


tinting the solitude

by yutayummy



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, PWP, Porn Watching, Sexual Experimentation, Unrequited Lust, guys being dudes, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27561730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yutayummy/pseuds/yutayummy
Summary: “I'm declaring this a no judgement zone.”“It's only a no judgement zone whenyoudo weird shit,” Mark huffs.“It's notweird, that's the point. Masturbation is a completely normal act of self-fulfilment.”
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 27
Kudos: 237





	tinting the solitude

**Author's Note:**

> back so soon! with more dudebros!

"Watcha watching?"

Through the gap in the door, Mark's eyes flitter up to spot Johnny standing in the doorway. Mark is in his bed, legs outstretched with his laptop perched upon his lap, inaudible chatter streaming through the speakers. Mark shrugs, glances down to pause the movie, then looks back up.

"Just some random movie I found on Netflix." 

"Yeah?" Johnny pushes the door further open and it squeaks loudly because if there's one thing their dorm needs, it's heavy maintenance. "Any good? Can I join?"

Mark does a double take, but relents. "Yeah, sure." He settles the laptop on his bed and scoots further into the wall to make room for Johnny on the other side. Johnny rests back against Mark's dented pillow as he prods the spacebar and the movie resumes. 

It becomes abominably clear within the next twenty minutes that Mark hadn't really intended for Johnny to join him. Johnny doesn't know what the movie is about, didn't care to ask to read the description beforehand, but if the sheer raunchiness of the scenes are anything to go by, this was intended to be a solo endeavour. He can feel Mark's eyes on him whenever the scenes get ridiculously heated. 

But hey, Johnny isn't some destitute little virgin that can't handle an onscreen make-out session. Mark had walked in on him being indecent far too many times at this point for _this_ to warrant any sort of bullying.

Except, well, Mark is fun to ridicule. 

The scene fades to black, a door sounds, and they're suddenly in a bedroom. It's the basic movie setup: hot, fictional woman against a wall while a marginally less hot, fictional man goes to town on her neck. Not really Johnny's entertainment pick, but Mark is tense enough for Johnny to assume that this does something for him.

"Was I interrupting your solo time?" Johnny teases nonchalantly.

" _No_ , it was recommended so I just randomly clicked it. I've never heard of it before."

"Don't they recommend you stuff based on stuff you've already seen?" 

"I don't know... Ten uses the account too," Mark pouts. 

Johnny hums. "Sure."

They go silent as the scene gradually gets kinkier, paddles and all. Johnny rests his chin against crossed arms, suddenly invested.

"You can jack off if you want, I'm not fussed. But I ain't leaving now." Onscreen, the female character moans loudly. She's pretty, long dark hair and intense eyes — Johnny would probably categorise her as 'his type'. "I’m invested." 

"You're fucking weird," Mark comments.

"Says the one watching softcore porn on a Thursday afternoon..." Johnny sits up and turns the MacBook volume all the way up until the whiny moans drown out just about everything else. Mark looks alarmed, bracing himself like the Porn Police are about to break into their apartment any second. "It's fine, really," Johnny says. He gestures to the woman bent over the bed. "She's hot."

"I guess..."

"Exactly. If you want to touch yourself, don't let my presence stop you."

"Dude, I'm not—"

The words fall flat as Johnny squeezes his junk, eyes on Mark to gage his reaction. 

Johnny himself isn't really hard, but he isn't entirely soft either. Perhaps he has unfulfilled exhibitionist tendencies — that's for _him_ to dwell on. 

Mark merely gapes.

" _Dude_."

"Hey, I'm just proving that it's fine. I'm declaring this a no judgement zone."

"It's only a no judgement zone when _you_ do weird shit," Mark huffs. 

"It's not _weird_ , that's the point. Masturbation is a completely normal act of self-fulfilment."

"Dude, you sound like a creepy science professor."

Johnny likes biology, to be fair. 

He relaxes into the pillow again, tuning into the sounds of loud, wanton moans. They're starting to go at it now, breast groping and ball fondling and whatever other gross terms these vanilla Netflix executives come up with to delight the likes of Mark Lee and fellow followers of abstinence. 

The woman is catapulted onto the bed, the man pushes her legs open as he mouths along the inside of her thigh, and perhaps Johnny is enjoying this more than he should be. 

Mark is lax against the wall, looking both like he's internally invested and like he's about to run for the door any second now. Johnny concludes the latter will probably come true in approximately one second, because he's about to open his mouth. 

"Would you mind if _I_ touched my dick?"

Mark balks, but he doesn't sprint. "Probably? I dunno, you kind of already did..."

"You don't have to _look_..."

"But you're on my bed..."

Johnny looks down at Mark's flower-patterned bed cover. Yeah, maybe Mark has a point. It might be a little _too_ ironic to deflower a flower-patterned bed cover...

"Listen... I'm just trying to initiate some healthy mutual masturbation. It's good for the soul, bonds us for life. I've never _actually_ done it before but I saw a video on Twitter the other week, and well, you sorta set it up perfectly with your little sex film here."

" _Mutual masturbation_?"

"Yeah. Like, we whack off at the same time. Mutually."

Mark leans back into the wall, scrutinising. "Why would you want to do that?"

Johnny sighs. "It's all about, like, inner peace. A mutually accepting and dependable relationship. Completing your premeditated solo adventure, except with the company of a _friend_ who won't _judge_ you for your appalling lack of _taste_. A watch and be watched sort of ordeal, but like, you don't _have_ to watch. Like, the girl is hot, she redeems the movie. We'll watch the girl, but it'll have the _vibes_ of physicality, y'know?"

"Wh—"

"My dick is sorta hard now so if you say no you'll have to live with the fact that I'll be jerking off in the bathroom next door anyway. We may as well just be open about it."

Johnny laughs, because Mark is looking at him far too intensely, and he's not _really_ being as serious as he probably sounds, but he sorta hopes Mark caves anyway because he really _is_ horny and he really _did_ watch a video the other week that got the gears in his head churning and Mark is... _right there_. 

Hell, isn't this what college is all about? 

"Ah, but it's embarrassing..."

"You've seen my dick before, Mark."

"But you haven't seen _mine_." 

Johnny shrugs. "I can look at the screen! I'm sure there's nothing to be embarrassed about _anyway_ , but I won't look. We don't have to get, like, _involved_." He rolls his eyes at Mark's complete lack of faith in himself because he probably has nothing to worry about anyway. Mark is like that.

"Yo, I think we missed like half of this sex scene. Are you down or what?" Johnny asks.

"Promise not to make fun of me?"

"Pinky promise." He holds out his pinky but Mark shrugs it away with a grimace. He leans forward, rewinds the movie back to the scene with the paddle, then moves back to stare at Johnny.

"Don't utter a single _word_ to me. We do this in silence. And no looking at my dick either."

"Aye aye, Captain."

Mark hits the spacebar, and the two of them watch on with a sordid mixture of hesitation and anticipation. Johnny is the first to succumb to the silence. Firstly, he lets the vision of the woman being paddled get his blood rushing, then he gently inches his hand across his thigh and over his crotch. He gives himself a light squeeze, focusing on the way the woman's hair waver with each writhe of her body, then lunges his hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. Mark must hear the snap of the band amidst all the moaning because the way he instantly freezes is almost _palpable_. Johnny tugs his dick upright and begins to stroke it lightly, ears intercepting female moans whilst simultaneously holding out for Mark.

It takes Mark a while to gather the strength, — the courage, or whatever — needed to give into his desires. It's further into the sex scene when Johnny hears the slight rustle of fabric as Mark presumably eases his own hand into his pants. True to his word, Johnny doesn't peek or let on that he's acknowledged anything of the sort; that isn't what he's here for, after all. He's here for a shared, possibly heightened, experience. No weirdness. Strictly business. 

Though, that doesn't stop him from honing in on Mark's light exhales. Johnny can tell he's trying to suppress them, but they're loud enough for Johnny to pick up on all the same, breathy and uneven. Johnny, despite himself, can easily imagine how flushed Mark must look right about now. And all it would take is a single glance to find out. 

It's thrilling, knowing that his own best-friend-slash-roommate is _right there_ , that he's (hopefully) deriving as much pleasure from the circumstance as Johnny is, that all it would take is one tilt of their heads and they'd be bordering some sort of legitimacy, that the two of them are _mere seconds away from orgasming_ whilst practically flush together without the attraction specifically being about _one another_. 

There are so many thoughts that occupy Johnny's mind, but for the most part he lets himself draw blanks as he hones in on his own pleasure and Mark's slightly less-contained moans. Because, yeah, Mark's moans are sweeter. And realer. 

As if on cue, the fake moans onscreen get louder, and Mark's hands get sloppier as he quickens his pace, and Johnny's stomach clenches tightly as he nears his own completion with bated breath. His eyes are on the woman's open mouth and glossy lips, but his ears are mighty focused on Mark. His hips stutter to meet his hand, toes curling where they're tucked under his folded legs, and with a few sharp flicks of his wrists he's coming into his boxers with a singular unrestrained whine. 

Mark cums shortly afterwards, though Johnny tries not to physically acknowledge it. He squeezes lightly at the base of his own dick to ride out those extra rivulets of pleasure, eyes locked on the screen where the guy is now fucking the girl missionary style as Mark stutters through his own orgasm, choked breaths slipping through his mouth unfiltered. 

Johnny pulls his cum-slick hand out of his briefs before he can become hard again and lets it float in midair. Mark does the same, and Johnny looks over just in time to see him scrunching his nose up at the mess he'd made. Johnny doesn't comment; for some reason, he doesn't have any jokes to make. He goes lax, blissed out, head sorta buzzing. 

Mark raises an eyebrow then flops back onto his bed red in the face. Meanwhile, the woman's moans subdue.

Then post-nut clarity strikes, and Johnny can't help but feel _guilty_ , like he'd just used Mark as some sort of pawn in a game he wasn't even aware he was playing. Johnny can't even steal Mark's _toast_ without feeling fucking guilty — it's those wide, pretty eyes and pliant objections, isn't it? 

Mark shifts, and Johnny stills. 

"Honestly, dude, I think you were right. I totally just felt our souls entwine," he calls out. 

Johnny can't help but to snort. 

And just like that, he feels inner peace once more. 

*

"Heeyy~"

Johnny looks up from his bowl of cereal to find Mark stranding beside him. Yes, it's past eight at night. Yes, he's eating Cheerios while scrolling through Twitter. That's life, baby.

"Yeah?" 

Mark nervously drums his fingers against the kitchen counter. "Wanna watch a movie together tonight?" 

"A _movie_ movie?" Johnny quips.

Mark nods.

"Like, what sort of movie?"

"Like... Y'know. Like the _other_ movie."

Johnny's gut about plummets ten feet towards a dark abyss at the clarification. He shoves more cereal in his mouth with renewed vivacity. 

"When?" he asks around his spoon. He's pretty sure a bit of milk dribbles down his chin, or maybe he's just drooling. 

"Well, it's already quite late, so, uh, whenever."

"So, like, now?"

"I mean..." Mark hums, tilts his head to the side as he watches Johnny chew. "When you're done being gross." 

Johnny pouts. "You sadden me." 

Mark rolls his eyes and backs away from the counter. "I'll be, uh, browsing."

Johnny salutes Mark's exit with his spoon. As soon as he's out of sight, Johnny slurps up the remainder of his milk like his life depends on it. He dumps his empty bowl in the sink and scurries after Mark, who's unfolding his MacBook. 

"You should let _me_ choose the movie. The last one was kinda shit, Mark."

Mark looks up dejectedly. "Fine." 

Turns out, Netflix doesn't really have an elite selection of adult movies. Every single movie poster depicts white heterosexual couples with slender figures and the same sleazy filter — one is _literally_ named 'White Girl'; Johnny has seen more diversity on the front page of _PornHub_. 

"That one has lesbians," Mark points out.

"You're into lesbians? That's kinda bad, Mark." 

"Lesbians are bad?"

"Wh—No. Would you watch two guys?"

"N-no?"

Johnny tuts. "Why not?"

"Because I'm not gay?" Mark stares daggers into the side of his head. 

"Nor are you a lesbian. Hey, this one might be poly." Johnny inspects the image — two girls resting on the chest of some guy — and the description, which is vague but nonetheless intriguing. "A compromise."

"This is just lesbians with added steps," Mark points out.

"It's less morally grey," Johnny retorts.

"Yeah, sure." Mark grins suddenly. "You probably just like eyeing the buff guys."

"I _am_ a buff guy. I could beat them up easy, there's no competition here." 

"That statement was rather morally grey if you ask me..." 

Johnny smiles sweetly and hits play. "Good job I wasn't." 

The two of them settle on the bed, laptop in the space in front of them. Johnny stretches out his left leg and tucks his right leg underneath it, leaning back on his elbows so he's eye-level with the screen. Mark remains upright, cross-legged, head resting on the palm of his hand as the intro begins. 

This movie has a slow build-up that almost perfectly mirrors the same events of the last movie they watched, which only further proves Johnny's point that Netflix execs have _no_ originality or taste. Johnny thinks he and Mark may well just resort to straight up porn at this point, because these dastardly make-out sessions that lead nowhere are like edging for the soul. It's, like, double edging when all _three_ of the main characters start getting it on. Also, Johnny swears he's seen this actor in some PG-13 shit before. It's off-putting.

Eventually, the pace picks up, the lights dim, the three main characters are crammed onto a sofa together, and out from the MacBook speaker streams a tense guitar melody that can _only_ denote an onslaught of sexual tension.

And _that_ is Johnny's cue to get settled into a more comfortable position with easier access to his dick.

One of the female characters initiates contact first, sitting on the guy's lap and teasing his lip between her teeth while deadlocking her gaze on the other woman's. It's both creepy and hot at the same time. The other woman just sits there, tense, until the guy slithers his hand across her thigh and formally involves her. She seems to melt into it, drifting just a fraction closer to them, and they invite her in with a shuffle of hips and a tilt of heads.

Three-way kisses don't work, no matter _how_ hard you try. Not even in movies. The scene is relatively awkward, but Johnny has to remind himself that he isn't here to critique some shitty movie, he's here to jerk off. He delves his hand into his boxers without stalling, exhaling a sigh of relief when he hears Mark do the same almost instantaneously, as though he was waiting for it; he probably was, he's probably already hard. Johnny, on the other hand, takes his time trailing across his dick with light squeezes to ensure he's really feeling it. 

Johnny closes his eyes this time. Focuses on himself, his own pleasure, and the telltale exhales Mark lets out every so often. Whereas Mark's gasps speed up, Johnny takes his time. He rubs his thumb over the head of his dick, under the ridge of it, then trails down to give his balls a light squeeze. He loves his balls being played with, always has. He massages them for a little while, harmonious moans beginning to sound from the MacBook, white light in the front of his head. 

All it takes, after that, is a few more tugs to push him closer to the edge. Except, his boxers are restrictive and there's a quiet nagging in his head telling him to get rid, so he does. With his eyes still closed, he pulls his dick all the way out of his pants, hand stroking quickly over the freed length of it. He can't hear the onscreen moans anymore, all he can hear is the buzzing in his ears as he finally tips himself over the edge, hunched over and with a tightness in his very core that unravels itself spontaneously. He feels his own cum drip down his closed fist. 

When he opens his eyes his heart is beating rapidly in his chest. He notices that the threesome are still going at it, but that Mark seems to have stilled. He chances a glance over, notes Mark's soiled hand resting atop his own thigh, Mark's eyes on the bit of bed by Johnny's legs. 

"You came on my bed."

Johnny looks down at himself through blurry eyes, and sure enough there's a little dribble of spunk on Mark's flower patterned bed cover. In fact, it's sorta everywhere; his dick is still out, bare and softening over his pants with cum drying around it. And, yeah, that sorta eradicates all elements of plausible deniability. But at least Mark hasn't said anything about his literal dick hanging out... 

"Sorry man, I'll wash them tomorrow."

*

"If we ever... y'know... again, then we're doing it in _your_ bedroom next time." 

"Mine?"

Mark grimaces. "I had to sleep in bedsheets with your _cum_ on them, John."

Johnny ignores the archaic use of 'John', because, "You didn't fucking _strip_ them?!"

"No? I don't have any other sets..."

"Bro, Mark, dude... You were meant to take them off. It'd be fine bare." 

"Yeah, well. I already slept in them," Mark admits sheepishly. 

"Christ. I'll wash your covers in, like, an hour. Don't do anything moronic, like _lick_ them or somethin—Jesus, y'know what, I'm gonna go strip them." Johnny stands abruptly from the table and makes for the door. "You're disgusting."

From behind, he hears Mark call out, "Why the hell would I lick—"

* 

"I think we should just watch porn this time. Waiting around is so boring... Like, we have a clear aim. Why beat around the bush while these sappy, horny losers court one another like its nineteen thirty-three?"

Mark stares up at him incredulously. "So now we're watching _porn_ together?"

"We've _been_ watching porn together, Mark."

"Not explicitly."

"Was me coming on your covers not explicit enough for you? Because I can go back in there and do it ag—"

"Yo, fuck no!"

"Exactly."

Johnny lunges onto his bed, because, yes, they're in _his_ room this time. He doesn't mind, really. Perhaps the change in atmosphere will shake things up a little. Johnny's room is warmer, messier, and has that flavourful gym rat smell to it. 

Ah, the smell of testosterone and farts _really_ gets him going. 

He chuckles to himself for reasons Mark isn't privy to, then types in the address of his favourite porn site ( _not_ PornHub, thank you very much). 

"We're really watching porn?" Mark asks when the home screen loads and he's confronted with an entire page of square panels showcasing all manners of atrocities ranging from gagging to titfucking to double penetration (one of Johnny's personal favourites). 

Johnny hums. "Is that alright?"

"Uh, I guess?"

"What type of porn are you into?" Johnny enquires. 

"I don't really watch it straight-up. Messes with your expectations, and stuff."

Alas, Mark Lee is a smart, smart man. 

"Okay, well, what part of those shitty Netflix movies seemed appetising to you?"

"Uhh..." Mark shrugs. "Just, like, the _energy_? Like, waiting for it to happen, I guess. The tension."

"So, like, foreplay?"

He shrugs again. "I guess?"

"Okay, I can get behind that. What're we feeling?" Johnny reads off some of the titles: "Blowjobs? Fingering? _Long, passionate foreplay?_ Hot wax? Ball massaging? We _aren't_ watching any of the lesbian ones, FYI."

With a roll of his eyes, Mark says, "Dude, I dunno. Any."

Johnny spins his head to look at him. "You better pick one or we aren't beating our dicks." 

"Say that again and I'll leave."

"You're such a weakling," Johnny whines. He gives Mark's thigh a harsh squeeze that causes him to yelp, then focuses his attention back on the screen. 

"Yo, what's with all the stepdaughter titles...?" Mark asks.

Johnny sighs defeatedly. "Weird shit."

Mark drags the cursor around the screen for a few moments in contemplation, before finally deciding on a very vague foreplay-ending-in-creampie scenario. 

After a brief titular intro, the video begins to play. It's more of the same bland, vanilla shit that Mark so seems to love, but more explicit. As opposed to waiting around for an hour to spy some action, the woman is on her knees with a mouthful of dick within approximately two minutes. 

Eh, it'll do. 

In honour of decidedly not beating around the bush, Johnny straight-up just pulls his dick out of his pants then and there. Mark definitely looks, and definitely balks at how utterly unabashed Johnny is. 

"Oh, are you nervous now?"

"No... Just appalled."

Johnny hums. "I'm sure Johnny Jr. can be a little intimidating in the eyes of those lesser endowed..."

Mark _squeaks_. He squeaks like a little mouse caught in a trap and it has Johnny's blood rushing south. "You've never seen my dick and now you never will."

"Oh? Were you planning on introducing him to me?"

"Definitely not."

Johnny chuckles to himself, stroking over his already-hard dick. Perhaps sadism does it for him... He'll add it to his list right below exhibitionism, mutual masturbation and, uh, milk. 

Yeah.

Not caring much for the porn filtering through the speakers, Johnny falls back onto the bed, head cushioned by his own pillow. He can't see what's going on, nor would he care to. It isn't like Mark is about to offer up any brand new sights, and Johnny can hear any moans he lets out well enough from down here — _not_ that this is a Mark-centric experience rather than, like, a mutual porn-browsing session, or whatever. 

Or, at least, that's what Johnny is telling himself so he can sleep guiltlessly at night.

Johnny squeezes his balls lightly, pinky and index finger brushing purposely against his perineum. He really likes the way it feels down there, but tries not to linger for too long in case Mark notices and thinks he's strange.

At this point, this feels like a solo endeavour. Mark isn't really doing much of anything.

Johnny palms his dick all the way back up to the tip, then glides his thumb under the ridge of his head because _fuck_ does it feel good when he does that. He presses the pad of his thumb into the skin there, then lightly drags his nails down the base of his dick. He repeats that a few more times until he feels precum pool out of his slit, which he then dips his thumb into and rubs into the sensitive parts of his head, breathing coming to a halt as he basks in the pleasure. He swipes the remainder of precum across his fingers and fists his dick rhythmically. 

Somewhere above, he hears the familiar rustle of Mark slipping his hand into his pants. Despite himself, Johnny looks away from the ceiling and tries to focus on what Mark is doing. He can't see much, but he's pretty sure Mark is getting out his own dick. Like, actually exposing his bare dick to the elements. The very _idea_ of it is enough to have Johnny flopping back down onto his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling, bucking his groin into his own hand and fisting himself at such a quick pace that he's coming on himself not ten seconds later with fire blazing behind his eyelids. The wet drops of cum piercing his abdomen are what snap him out of his elongated daze, and he lets out the breath he forgot he was holding. 

With one last tight squeeze of his dick and one final dribble of cum, Johnny lets go and pulls himself into a sitting position. He leaves his hand, soiled and twitching, curled on his thigh. Without really even thinking about it, he turns his head to glance at Mark. 

He isn't finished. His dick _is_ out, and it looks nothing like Johnny had expected it to. Johnny is hyper aware of every subtle movement, from Mark's heaving chest to the way his tiny hand stammers to a stop where he's jerking himself off.

"Dude, stop looking at me."

Johnny does as he says, staring at his laptop in a blurry haze. "You're bigger than I expected you to be," he slurs. 

"Yo, that's such a backhanded compliment..." 

"No, no. It's _good_ , dude."

Mark lets out a downtrodden hum. He tries to pick his pace back up but stops resolutely mere moments later.

"Can you, like, go again? It's awkward being the only one..." 

"Sorry dude." Johnny looks down at his red, lifeless dick bundled up in his sweats. "He's spent."

Mark groans dejectedly and Johnny stares at the way his eyes scrunch shut. "The porn was just getting to the good bit."

Johnny can't help the way his eyes drift down to where Mark's hands are wrapped around himself. More so out of embarrassment, now, but the sight sets off alarm bells that reverberate around Johnny's skull. 

He puts his own dick away and asks, "Want me to help?" 

"Help, as in?"

" _As in_ we _mutually_ jerk you off."

"That — what you just said — that was weirder than you playing with your ass just then... I think there's something wrong with you."

"So you were watching me?" Johnny smirks. "God, you want me so crazily bad."

Mark doesn't even reply to that, just pulls the sourest expression he can muster. "I dunno dude... If you touched my dick with your sweaty paws it'd probably turn in on itself." 

Johnny coos. "Performance anxiety?" 

"Disgust."

"Lies. I have good hands. Big, solid." He turns them over, fingers spread.

Mark's own hand is still laid covering his dick. Like, wrapped around it but not really. Sorta just resting over it. "That one is covered in cum," he points out. 

"It'll give it that extra glide." He wiggles his fingers in demonstration and Mark full-on _chortles_. 

The two of them still. There's something wet-sounding playing through the speakers. Mark narrows his eyes at Johnny before looking away and brushing his fingers across his own dick pensively.

"Okay, fine." 

"A problem shared is a problem halved," Johnny recites with finality. "Shuffle closer." 

Mark lets out a huff of air, scooting his hips so he's within reach. "I can't believe I'm doing this..." 

"That _you're_ doing this? What about _me_?"

"Oh, I can believe it."

Johnny snorts through his nose. "Shall I just... go for it?"

Mark nods shyly. He hesitantly moves his hand away from his crotch, and the two of them watch as Johnny reaches his hand — yes, the one covered in semi-dry cum — across to replace Mark's. Mark squeezes his eyes shut on impact, then quickly looks to the porn playing on Johnny's laptop; his Adam's apple visibly bobs as he gulps. Johnny keeps his eyes on his face as he works his dick back to its original hardness. It's only slightly smaller than his own, so it doesn't feel much different. The only difference is that Johnny can't feel the vibrations of pleasure, can only witness it in the way Mark keeps swallowing the lump in his throat, the way his soft brown hair hangs limply over his reddened face. 

Johnny gives his dick a subtle squeeze, watching the way Mark's body straightens up momentarily in surprise. His eyes are glued to the screen, so adamant on avoiding Johnny's gaze. Johnny lets up, lets his eyes wander down Mark's flushed neck and heaving chest, landing finally on the dick tucked in his palm. It's much redder than his hand, which glides easily across the base. It has a nice little curve to it. 

He wonders if Mark is a nipple guy. He's certainly not a perineum guy, but surely there has to be _something_ that makes him tick. Johnny isn't about to chance finding out, but he can't help but think about it. 

He thumbs the slit of Mark's dick, earning another subtle jerk of his body. The head is soft beneath Johnny's thumb, leaking pre-cum that Johnny immediately latches onto his finger and rubs around the perimeter, causing Mark to shudder. He's so sensitive, so wet — Johnny's immediate thought is how Mark would react to him swiping his tongue across his dick, suckling the tip even. His head goes fuzzy just thinking about it, tranced as he sits there salivating with baited breath and a hardening dick. 

Jesus fuck, he's getting hard thinking about his friend's dick in his mouth. Johnny probably should've taken Doyoung's therapy advice...

He snaps himself out of his daze and goes back to gliding his tight fist around Mark's dick in its entirety. Mark jumps a little every time Johnny swipes a thumb over his head, but that's the only reaction Johnny gets from him. He doesn't think Mark's even _breathing_ at this point. 

Johnny wants to ask if he's close, but doing so will probably break whatever illusion Mark is under, and Johnny really wants to finish him off. He tightens his fist and makes sure to twist his hand harsher on the uptake. It'd be so much easier if he could just lean over and suck Mark dry. Like, if Johnny was in that situation, he's pretty sure he wouldn't mind it, and he's almost-sorta-kinda sure Mark wouldn't either. 

Johnny repeats the same thing over and over, picking up the pace when Mark gets breathy and seems like he's trying to hold himself back from bucking up. With a few twists of Johnny's wrist and some non-accidental brushes of his thumb across Mark's head, Mark's lower body shudders desperately in a bid to ride out his high. He claws his fingers into the bedsheets and tenses almost entirely, moans slipping through the facade. He squirts an alarming amount — rather than shooting down the sides it lands in ribbons across his tee, the excess leaking down Johnny's hands.

Before Johnny can finish him off properly, rinse him of those last specks of cum, Mark reaches down and unlatches his fingers, slowly sinking into the wall as he twitches with deep inhalations.

When Johnny looks up at his face, the view strikes him straight in the gut: Mark, lax against the wall, crimson face tucked into his chest as he tries to muffle the moans he'd tried so hard to keep in early by holding his breath, tee riding just over his hips, dick still upright and leaking, hands white where they're gripping onto the bedsheets for dear life. 

Yes, Johnny is hard. He forces himself to look away, eyes landing back on the porn. He'd forgotten it was playing at all. He clicks out of the tab, enabling him to hear Mark's heavy breathing in all its glory. 

"You good?" 

"Mmfph." 

Johnny hears the sound of Mark's waistband snapping against his hips, then the rustle of what must be Mark's hands rubbing over his tee. Through his peripheral he sees Mark bend forward, pushing his hair out of his face before sitting back with a huff.

"Was that... okay?"

Mark stays silent, then laughs very quietly. "Honestly, dude, it was weird as hell."

Oh.

"Oh?"

"It just felt, like... odd. Like, I dunno. It was too awkward. Didn't really... vibe."

"That's fine." Except, it isn't, really, to the _full_ extent possible, because Johnny did more than that — did more than vibe. But if Mark didn't, he'll accept that, because that's what good friends do. That's what people with a good moral alignment do. 

Jesus Christ, leave it to Johnny to be the one to get too invested in a masturbation session with his straight roommate-slash-best-friend — way to go, Johnny-o!

Mark was right: porn ruins expectations. 

"The mutual masturbation stuff was good though, right? Y'know, like holy intervention..."

"Sure, I guess."

"You wound me, Mark Lee."

"Hey, I'm here to _learn_ and _prosper_. It was good, but not _life changing_. I can't focus on non-life-changing events, they hold me back from prosperity."

"Mark. Stop listening to Frank Ocean, you're full of shit." 

Mark snorts. "Yeah..."

Pause.

"Okay, fine, we have a _mutual_ agreement to no longer jerk off together. S'that cool?"

"That's cool! I mean, I'm not opposed to it _sometimes_. It just depends."

"Okay!"

"And definitely _no_ touching." 

"Mhmm, I got that."

"Well then. You owe me pancakes."

Johnny furrows his brows. "Since when?"

"Since I said so three second ago."

"Uh. If you say so, Little Dick Lee." 

" _Hey_ , you can't call me that anymore. It was banned from public use in, like, twenty-eighteen when Yukhei obliterated my chances with Mina at that club and I cried in your arms."

Johnny hums.

"Also. You've touched my not-so-little dick. So, there." 

"I sure did! Bigfoot is real!"

Mark pouts, and later that night Johnny adds 'coming on a twink's face' right below milk and sadism on his list of eventual explorations.

**Author's Note:**

> once again, I hope you enjoyed! comments are very much appreciated. have a good day :’)


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